Habato Orenji

This'll be a short and pointless one. And why not?

Should every blog be some full diaper coming-to-Jesus thing?

 

I told my son two knock-knock jokes this morning. I'd never told him one before and I wasn't even sure he knew the proper call and response of it, but to my surprise and utter delight he did.

 

Herb.

"What?"

Knock knock.

"Who's there?"

Boo.

"Boo who?"

Don't cry, we'll take the apartment!

 

He laughed a polite laugh. A laugh that had clearly never seen Who's That Girl as many times as I have. Next joke.

 

Herb.

"What"

Knock knock.

"Who's there"

Hoo.

"Hoo who?"

IS THERE AN OWL IN HERE?

 

He laughed more at that one and said very seriously.

 

"What are you doing?"

I'm telling you knock knock jokes!

"Stop it."

 

I tell this kid how much I love him just as often as it occurs to me. And it occurs to me often. His little face. His expressions. His voice. What he thinks is hilarious. What he doesn't like - me singing, me playing guitar, me telling jokes. He's just an absolute marvel. 

 

He has yet to ask about his dad. Sometimes he'll script something about dads, but they're not earnest inquisitions, thank God. They arrest me every time, but as I start to fumble through an answer, he finishes the script and I bless the false alarm. I think about Nick just as often as I think about how much I love our son. And if I had not already previously established. It's often. Nick would be so tickled by Herb's mannerisms. His samenesses. His differences. His serious expressions and flat mouth when he's concentrating. I dream Nick less often than I used to, but I still wake up a heartsick sobbing mess from them. 

 

Anyways. This entry is basically a love letter to my kid. 

If he should happen up this at some later date - when we all live in cubes (except for the rich who live in bubbles), I hope he knows how much I adore him. Just in case it's been five whole minute since I told him last.